


Four AM Sober

by completetheory



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade - Redemption (Video Game), Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory
Summary: Vandal, medical ghoul and all around misanthrope, meets Christof Romuald, poster Brujah for the path of humanity (or something very much like it). Fortunately, Christof is not easily discouraged.
Relationships: Vandal Cleaver/Christof Romuald
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	Four AM Sober

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadScientific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts).



Therese Voerman hadn't the faintest clue what to do with the quasi medieval supplicant in her domain, which may have helped her reconsider Prince LaCroix's offer to become the Malkavian Primogen and merge praxis, offering up Santa Monica officially to the Prince. She had to do _something_ with him, though, so she granted him permission to operate and then hoped she didn't see him again. 

Christof Romuald was barely into the new millennium, having woken up a few years previously and gone on an action packed journey that involved a New York Tzimisce and a disguised child of Haqim, as well as other things. He felt he'd really grown a lot as a person, from seeing all vampires as mindless devils to becoming one of the devils and recognizing that no, they did still have souls, and in the case of Luther Black, souls which he objected to taking. He also recognized the Crusades as erroneous, and Embraced his beloved, Anezka, who had accompanied him to the West Coast.

This brought the Brujah up to the present, as much as an eight hundred fifty odd year power-nap in torpor could do. He determined where would be the best place to stake a haven, and then from there, where to buy blood. The local surroundings bothered him little, as he was used to a much more deleterious environment - rats, trash and emo pee were low on the scale of medieval sanitation outrages. The back door entrance to the Santa Monica hospital was well lit, and he entered and made his way down the stairs, listening to the intercom and the quiet echoes of his footsteps. 

There was a small, scrawny, ill-kept man behind the counter, protected by a bulletproof glass window. 

"Good evening to thee." Christof greeted - a few years of modern era living couldn't break the verbal habits of a lifetime, even though he'd already been corrected numerous times on the point.

The ghoul's eyes widened. "We're about to close up. Four AM, every night. Orders of the local Mistress." 

"I see. Art thou Vandal Cleaver?" 

For a moment, it was obvious the scruffy man believed himself in potential trouble, and for what would be wholly unjust reasons. "I art, but you'll have to take it up with her--" 

"Nay, I merely wished to ensure I had found the correct building. I trouble thee no further - I will return tomorrow." 

The curious, unrealistic blend of his speech was in its own way compelling to Vandal, like a particularly ugly animal. "If you make it fast, I can do you real quick. You want the red stuff, yes?" Obviously. Who else talked like a Ren Faire reject? Even if his style of dress was modern, he had corded muscle the likes of which Vandal had never seen, and his bearing was far too regal for ripped blue jeans. Vampires were amateurs, the Masquerade was a joke! Even if they were superior creatures, they seemed driven by the urge to bombastically announce themselves.

Vandal supposed he would, too, if he ever received the Embrace.

"Indeed, blood." Christof took out a wallet, and passed over a few hundred dollar bills, without bothering to verify how much the blood was.

"Christ. How much do you need?" Vandal asked, taking the money.

"A few bags only." Christof returned, "Thou may keep the remainder of coin for thyself. Thy work is invaluable." 

Vandal had no idea what to say to that, but did bring over an amount somewhat proportional to the offered money, finding it best not to pre-emptively screw a golden goose. Though from the look of Christof's face, he absolutely would screw the goose in other senses. The man was unfairly attractive.

"Not that you asked, but I was all set to go home and eat chicken strips right from the bag," Vandal murmured, "But if you have money you're dying to spend, you could take me somewhere." 

"Indeed, I shall. Thou shouldst eat more," Christof said, agreeably, and Vandal thought somewhat backhandedly. 

"I haven't been doing very well," Vandal admitted, compulsively, not sure if he was ceding like an easy mark to the praise or just challenging Christof to keep up this supposedly nice act when he became more _difficult_ , "Two funerals in the last week. A coworker of mine and my favorite call-girl." 

He shrugged on his jacket, coming around the side to the unprotected exit, and locking up behind himself. 

"My condolences, and may they rest in peace with God," Christof said, solemnly, putting the blood into a small refrigeration-friendly bag inside his backpack.

"...She might. I kind of doubt he will. He was a real asshole. But she was very sweet." Vandal peered curiously at Christof, "A religious vampire is a new one for me. I haven't met many of you at all, but don't you think there's a contradiction?" 

"I did." Christof held the door open for Vandal, "In my travels I met those both mortal and undying who challenged my beliefs. Cruel and kind, victims of circumstance..."

Vandal met the bitter chill of the late autumn night with the annoyed shifting of someone who didn't have a car and had resigned himself to a long walk, but the diner actually wasn't far, and Christof entered behind him casually, directing him to a booth as if he _did_ spend a lot of time in places like this. 

He ordered a bacon and egg sandwich, but his thoughts were mainly on this vampire, who was frustratingly nice. Vampires existed - fine, well and good - but they were superpredators. Creatures that should put humans in their place. Punish and destroy, not all this pleasant shit. Power should be used as its own justification, in Vandal's view. And honestly, weren't humans horrid? Wicked, and depraved, and most importantly, fucking disappointing? Didn't they deserve to be kicked down a peg or ten on the evolutionary scale? 

"What was her name?" Christof asked quietly. "The 'call-girl' you mentioned."

"Hannah." Vandal was disappointingly reminded that there _had been_ at least one person in his life who was decent. 

"I will pray for her." Christof said, and looked up as Doris called their order. He actually got up to get it for Vandal, and he could hear the boisterous Kindred saying, "Grammarcy, good woman!" before he returned, and Vandal squinted as if in spiritual pain.

"You don't really do the whole low profile thing, huh." 

"Hmm?" Christof understood all at once, "Ah. A friend once imparted to me 'the key is refuge in audacity'. He hath since revealed himself as a false Brujah, a child of an assassins clan, so at least he is consistent, and taketh his own advising." 

Vandal ate the sandwich in lieu of comment, finding that he was rather starved, actually. "What kind of fangless vampire," He murmured, knowing well enough to keep his voice down, "Buys dinner for a human, and doesn't prey on the weak?" 

Chistof didn't look offended, or even irritated. "Nay, noble Vandal. T'is strength that conveys compassion. The weak can ill afford the additional demands 'pon em, but the strong hath a richness of mercy to spare." 

"Humans are shit, and they don't deserve your mercy." 

"Is that so? Hath thou been so ill used?" 

Holy fuck, but he was annoying. "It isn't about me. It's about what the world does. It's about these petty little... fucks, and their selfishness, and --..." 

"A sinful world, aye." Christof agreed, solemnly, and tented his fingers. "A world of darkness. Into which, we may bring light, and blaze like the stars, and illuminate the path for one another." 

"You can't honestly believe that." 

The medieval, muscle headed lunk actually looked confused. "What gives thee cause to doubt? I am Brujah. Art we not an honest clan?" 

"I don't-..." More sandwich refuge. "I don't know, I've never met a Brujah. But you're fucking insane if you think humans deserve--your light. Your kindness. Whatever. How old are you?" 

"I was thirty, and hale, when Ecaterina the Wise inducted me into the mysteries. I have slept, and lived not the last several centuries, so t'is fair to say thirty and some few years more I remain."

"You just said 'have'." Vandal pointed out, finishing the sandwich and wishing he had another. Bleeding himself for vampires took a lot out of him that he didn't have the strength or spoons to replenish. 

Christof noted his hunger, and ordered another for him, and then grinned, neatly avoiding the accusation that he was talking Old Timey on purpose. He obviously wasn't intending to confirm or deny.

"Tell me more about the assassin. I like the idea of killing people." Vandal urged nastily, but Christof was not deterred.

"Pink was the name he gave me. I know not why, as nothing of him was pink in color. He allied himself to the Sabbat, and so too had my companions in my absence. Before I knew this, he accompanied me for a time and we grew companionably, forged in the flame of many battles. We protected one another, trusted one another, and even lay together, and I was fond beyond measure." 

"You sure are a weird crusader. Are you bi; does God allow it?" Vandal interrupted during a pause, starting in on his second sandwich as Christof fetched it for him.

"Aye to both, I am --what thee call it, and He does. T'is cruelty that the Lord is against. Regardless, he left me when he had killed the Giovanni's leader, and too suddenly for me to explain that I cared not for sect, or for his deception. If I see him again, I shall make greater haste to explain." 

Vandal supposed the gift of vampirism was totally wasted on this oaf, but he was hot enough, and generous with his money - and with compliments - which the ghoul didn't want to admit he liked. Vandal still didn't think humans were worth even half the fuck he was claiming, though, including himself. Plus, Hannah had left a void in his heart, he really had honestly liked her, and he hadn't had sex in a week thanks to not trusting any other call-girls with his specific masochism fetishes. Some of them might just call the cops, and he didn't need Therese getting angry and maybe killing him. 

"Why don't you come back to my place before sunrise?" Vandal offered slyly, "I have a safe room, blackout curtains and all. Or do I have to fight in deadly combat with you before you'd be interested?" 

"Nay, combat is only one of many avenues to my heart." Christof rose, "I am happy to return with thee, and warm thy bed, and possibly also thy heart." 

"Very unlikely," Vandal was honest. But... why not risk it? He did go for the big ones, and Christof was very, very big. It wasn't like he could ever get attached to someone this naive, this unassuming... at best, Christof was a fool. At worst - and part of Vandal sorely hoped this was so - Christof was faking it, actively, to lower his guard. The world really was as nasty and horrible as Vandal thought, because that meant it just couldn't be helped, and vampires in particular didn't choose to be evil. Evil just was, like the tides, or the seasons. 

Christof even held the door for him in the diner, after footing the bill, and he 'tsked' audibly at it. "When are you going to start behaving like a real bloodsucker?" He asked, leading the way back to his apartment. 

"I am kindred, therefore whichever way I behave is natural for kindred." Christof supplied, in that maddening, aphorism-laden method of speech.

"Christ. What you are is lucky to be attractive." Vandal muttered, "Otherwise I really would be crazy to waste time on -you." 

It wasn't far to his place, but he noticed as he turned to get his keys, Christof was close to him, peering at him with a disarming tenderness despite his attempts, all night, to be offputting. 

"Thirsty?" Vandal asked, turning the key and entering, home sweet rundown home, messy and dirty and with unfolded but at least clean laundry everywhere. Putting laundry away when vampires existed felt so banal and senseless. 

"Nay. Thou canst ill afford to spare the blood." Christof closed the door behind himself, entering the living area, taking off his shoes and then sitting, "My thanks for thy invitation." 

"Thank me by learning to speak in 21st century dialect." Vandal dug through the kitchen cupboards, looking for... something. "We _are_ going to have sex, right? I haven't misread you." 

"Aye, if --you would like," Christof said, idly experimenting with the sentence, "I should like it also. I have a partner for all eternity, but we both think 'modern' in these nights, accordingly." 

Vandal didn't want to know about Christof's partner. He didn't want to share, at least not tonight. He was lonely, cold, and horny - though thanks to Christof, at least not hungry. And it sounded like the crusader didn't want to take his blood for health reasons - good God. 

"At least something about you is modern." Vandal muttered, skulking over to him, "Come on, then. Show me why I should be impressed with you."

"Happily." Christof stood, sweeping Vandal up into his arms, and carried him to the bedroom.


End file.
